


Accidents and Apologies

by cecilkirk



Series: fic prompts [7]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Essentially fluff, Frerard, M/M, angst if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 00:26:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6135203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilkirk/pseuds/cecilkirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: things you said that I wish you hadn't</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidents and Apologies

Gerard would never cease to be amazed at the power of words. The only thing he'd ever be entitled to--that anyone ever would be entitled to, aside from maybe life itself--held much more power than he could have ever predicted. Between syllables and rhythm coincided his heart beat. And at this moment, a string of words threatened to stop his heart itself.

When Frank can no longer stand to look at Gerard, he puts his face in his hands. "Jesus, Je--you know I didn't mean it like that."

"Then what did you mean?" 

Gerard is mortified at how tenuous and flimsy his voice sounds. He sounds like he'd been kicked in the gut.

"I just--" Frank runs a hand through his hair, avoiding Gerard's eyes where he desperately tries to meet Frank's. "You couldn't make it as an artist. You couldn't make it."

Gerard can find no words to bring justice to his cracking ribs. He does not fill the void between the two of them.

"Look, Gerard--"

"What? Am I that shitty?" Gerard finds the words being torn from his skeleton, leaving him feeling like he might fall apart the moment he stops. "Did I really waste all those years filling up notebooks and drying out Sharpies? Did I really throw away the only  _fucking_ source of solace I had as a kid? Should I have found something else to fill my hours? Well, apparently so, if I'm  _so_ horrible, if my work is that fucking cringe-worthy, if the only thing I care about doing is a  _fucking_ waste of time and paper and--"

"Gerard," Frank says softly, finally meeting his eyes. 

His throat bobs, trying to swallow away frustrated tears.

"Gerard, it's not like that at all," he says, taking a step forward. "Do you know what happens when artists make it? They make good stuff for a few years, and then they lose everything. The pressure gets to them and they lose their creative streak. Gerard, I know how much art means to you, and you're nothing short of amazing at it. You're really wonderful. And you can do whatever you want with your life, but I--" Frank's jaw clenches and he looks away. "I couldn't stand to watch you crumble under pressure. I couldn't bear to see your creativity stifled. It would be a tragedy."

Gerard's chest heaves, trying to suck in air through his tight throat, past the now-misplaced anger. His ribs ache like bruises, but at least he knows the pain will fade.

"Sorry," he whispers around tears, bringing a knuckle to his eyes.

"No, hey," Frank says, putting a hand on Gerard's shoulder. "I'm the one who should be saying sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, Gerard. You know I love you. I just want what's best for you, always."

Frank's hand moves to Gerard's back, rubbing. Gerard always thought it felt like Frank was trying to wear down the knobs of his spine, like Frank was trying to smooth out his rough edges. 

"I love you, too," Gerard says, and it sparks a grin on Frank's face. Frank kisses Gerard on the forehead and hugs him, rubbing down his spine, ensuring Gerard kept his pliability and softness.

And Gerard does think everyone is entitled to words; he believes everyone has the right to make their thoughts known. Everyone is deserving of existing outwardly. Life was, he decided, not a promise, but a gift--no one was entitled to life, and maybe no one was deserving of it. People were often too cruel, so much so this gift was pulled from them. But people were also good, and sometimes even both at the same time. Gerard decides that life was worth every moment. He buries his face into the crook of Frank's neck, letting the scent of his skin swirl in his lungs. Even when he hated Frank, life without him would have been meaningless. He wouldn't have wanted a moment without him.


End file.
